


Submission

by walkwithursus



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dom/sub Undertones, Guillermo Steps on Nandor's Lap, M/M, Missing Scene, Nandor is horny for slayer guillermo, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: Guillermo is fed up with Nandor's posturing.
Relationships: Guillermo/Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows TV)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 184





	Submission

Bathed in yellow light, Guillermo gazes out upon the auditorium filled with the bodies he has slaughtered, his chest heaving with every breath he takes. Dust motes swirl in the air as blood seeps into his clothing, drying into the cracks of his hands and dripping onto his shoes. 

The vampires— _his_ vampires, the only vampires left alive—are in comparative shadow, barely visible on the stage above. Guillermo is aware that they had been calling out to him throughout the war he has just waged, though whether in encouragement or disgust he does not know. 

In the silence that follows the last enemy vampire’s dying breath, a voice rises that makes Guillermo’s heart pound faster than it has all night. “Guillermo, is there something you haven’t been telling us?” Nandor asks, as if he doesn’t know, as if he hasn’t known for months now that Guillermo killed both Carol and the Baron. 

Guillermo straightens himself to full height and does his best to lock eyes with Nandor from across the room. The glaring light from above obscures his former master’s face. “My name’s Guillermo de la Cruz,” he says, ignoring the trickle of blood that slides down his eyebrow and along the inner corner of his nose. 

“Don’t care what the fuck your name is. We had to pick up our own laundry!” Nandor cries, and Nadja makes a noise of assent. 

Guillermo knows better by now than to expect gratitude, or even acknowledgement from his former companions of the things he’s done, the things he’s sacrificed for them, but the disappointment still twists in his chest like a knife. 

_Unbelievable._

Guillermo leaves the circle of light and slowly approaches the stage. His footsteps are heavy, echoing as he walks up the short steps to stand before them, covered in the blood of the vampires he has just slain for their benefit. The stake clutched in his hand drips audibly onto the floor below, and he feels four pairs of eyes lock onto it on instinct. Guillermo the familiar would have dropped the stake. Guillermo de la Cruz, the slayer, grips it tighter. It is an extension of his arm, as much a part of him as his own hand. 

Nandor visibly recoils at his approach, his lips drawn back in a grimace of discomfort, or possibly fear. The other vampires fade away to nothing; their existence at this moment is unimportant. Guillermo only has eyes for Nandor—his former master—the man he will go to Hell for. 

Guillermo gazes down at him through blood-smeared lenses as Nandor squirms in his silver restraints. The erect outline of Nandor’s cock can be seen through his trousers—proof that he had watched the scene unfold, and had not remained unaffected as he would have Guillermo and the others believe. Guillermo lifts his leg to place the sole of his loafer on Nandor’s lap and gently grinds the stiff length under his heel.

Nandor lets out a strangled hiss. With deadly strength and agility, Guillermo grabs a hold of Nandor’s elaborately embroidered shirt and drags him forward, until they are nose to nose. Nandor’s hands flex in their bindings as his dark eyes flicker across Guillermo’s face, reproachful, curious, conflicted. 

The tip of Guillermo's stake drifts from Nandor’s throat to his chest. An idle gesture; there is no intention behind it, though Nandor need not know that. Guillermo digs the point into his flesh hard enough for the vampire to wince, and asks, his voice so low as to almost be gentle, “What was it you were saying about the laundry?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments greatly appreciated.


End file.
